Of course no one is immune to the occasional accident, no matter how much they prepare ahead. A direct strike from a five ton meteorite cannot be offset by wearing sensible headgear. Nature was full of these kinds of problems.

Pinky found botany something of a challenge for the nature of organic growth was disorderly in the way things sprouted here and there when least expected. Weeds were a menace. They hid around corners waiting for a gardening victim and as soon as someone's back is turned they leap upon a lawn in full sprout and wave there, an incongruous apparition.

Miss Zacharim, the botany mistress, was known for her fondness of cacti, especially the most prickly kind, and her pupils one morning were presented with a splendid display of the most formidable types as they were to learn about the way plants warded off determined enemies with natural defence.

"Some plants stink, don't they miss?" one pupil suggested.

"Indeed they do, but that acts as a lure to certain insects rather than a warning to stay clear."

"Essence of Pong," Victoria Sponge of Dorm Amaze felt obliged to say. "Not available in any shops."

"Settle down girls," the teacher raised her voice over the inevitable sniggers that greeted this observation.

The girls were all presented with a potted plant to examine and advised to study how the prickles protected all the exposed parts of the cactus.

When one of the Nordeyer twins pricked her finger the other squeaked in pain so she did it again, eliciting a second squeak. Thus the other twin stubbed her toe deliberately against the leg of a neighbouring stool which made her sister jump up and hop around a moment.

"Please be extra careful when handling these delicate plants," warned Miss Zacharim.

"No! Don't hurt me!"

Everyone looked to where this plaintive wail for mercy came from and the cactus in front of Danique Ferale appeared to have shed its bristles which lay scattered around in a neat circle.

"I didn't do anything," Danique insisted. "Just breathed on it. The next thing I know all the needles fell off and it screamed."

"Ah, you have one of the more unusual cacti. The Mercy Lure has developed a most effective way of protecting itself," the botany mistress explained.

"What, by laying itself open to attack?" Danique snorted and made to grab the bulbous yellow thing now denuded of its pointy protection. It was her turn to scream for as soon as her fingers touched the smooth surface a whole new set of needles thrust outward.

"Ha, gotcha!" a squeaky sound came from somewhere within the plant with a distinctive boasting tone.

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"There you see," Miss Zacharim emulated the smugness of the devious vegetable. "The Mercy Lure begs for its life one moment, only to strike when its attacker thinks itself secure of the prize."

"I'm more surprised it spoke," Danique mumbled, sucking on a finger sullenly.

"Just my little joke there," the mistress chortled. "Projected voice control."

"That'll learn yer," the cactus added.

"Miss, what does this cactus do?" Petal Mara asked for hers appeared to be pulsating in a most distressful manner, having taken on an unpleasant reddish tinge.

"Stress Reflex," Miss Zacharim said in alarm. "Girls, back away slowly. Nobody cough or make sudden moves. That particular cactus protects itself in a desperate way if put under excessive pressure from an assailant. The Mercy Lure I fear has worried its sensitive nature unduly."

The girls crowded out through the door in a tangled squeeze as the teacher donned goggles while shielding them.

"What does it do that's so desperate?" someone asked just as they escaped into the corridor.

"Boom!" the Mercy Lure shouted mischievously and then everyone found out for the other cactus exploded in a cloud of bristles that tinkled against the four walls and the ceiling of the classroom just as the door was shut.

"Awesome!" Soo Toglak said, examining the greeny goo and needles splattered against the glass door panel.

"Everyone accounted for, seven, eight?" the mistress checked and counted the gathered pupils in the hallway at the same time. "One missing!" she squeaked and darted into the messy room.

"I'm okay miss," came the voice of Pinky Ponsonby from somewhere below her and Miss Zacharim found the girl hidden under a table clutching some of the smaller cacti as if protecting them from the explosion. "Noticed my shoe button was awry so bent down to fix it. All perfect now." She stood and handed the cacti she had caught to the botany mistress. "These poor little things got tumbled off the table when it was bumped so I caught them before they hurt themselves on the floor."

"That was very thoughtful of you," came a soft and impressed response. Pinky then squelched across the messy tiles to the door and stood with the others in the corridor awaiting instructions. It was only then that she yelped for in catching the bristly plants to save them she inevitably was a victim of their protective sharp halo.

"We hurt the ones we love, so next time wear a glove," Lyra lyrically summed up the philosophical and slightly painful experience of the pink-haired girl. With teary eyes Pinky retrieved some tweezers from her holdall and proceeded to pick out the needles one by one until they were all gone. She then applied a pain soothing salve to her hands and sighed before offering the salve to Danique, who scorned it with fierce Evernight pride, preferring to suck upon her finger.

"Do you have a solution for every problem that might occur?" Petal asked in awe.

"Of course not," Pinky waved away the thought. "If a giant meteorite were to suddenly hurtle out of space directly to where I'm standing now, my super instant inflatable cushion or insect repellant cloud spray would not resolve that particular problem," and she giggled.

Unbeknownst to her the increasingly desperate Imp of Entropy suddenly glanced this way and that in search of a possible piece of rogue space debris while those of more mortal persuasion who heard her words sidled away from the pink-haired girl, making a ring of safety around where she stood. All except Petal who gazed upwards at the corridor ceiling speculatively, as if listening for the telltale whistling sound of tons of super-heated rock blasting a path through the upper atmosphere and zeroing in on the grounds of Miss Plazenby's Seminary.

Nothing happened however except Miss Zacharim, having made a quick cleaning sweep of the classroom, mainly to rescue surviving cacti, scooted the girls away for a break as that particular lesson was totally done.

As she departed back to the greenhouse to deposit her bristly specimens she could be heard having a discussion with the talkative Mercy Lure.

"Told you not to bring that wimpy Stress Reflex," it said in a prickly voice. "She's such a lightweight."